


Three's Company

by belovedmuerto



Series: Three's Company [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Multi, Other, Threesome, negotiation, the morning after
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-14
Updated: 2013-09-15
Packaged: 2017-12-26 13:59:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/966752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belovedmuerto/pseuds/belovedmuerto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg and Sherlock discuss an addition to their dynamic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This hasn't been betaed or brit picked. To be completely honest, I wrote it about forty minutes. It just needed to be written. There might possibly at some point be more, but don't quote me on that.

Sherlock lets his eyes fall shut. The spray of the shower is hot against his back, soothing. It’s grounding. His body is lethargic, slow to move. Sated. His mind is equally slow, smugly pleased with the previous night’s activities and only gradually working itself up to normal speed this morning.

Lestrade chuckles at him; Sherlock is always like this after sex. Pliant, as affectionate as he ever gets. He’ll likely even eat a full meal, if one is placed in front of him in the next forty minutes or so.

“Give me your head,” he says, just over the noise of the water, and Sherlock obligingly tilts his head downwards so Greg can work the shampoo into his hair.

Sherlock makes a pleased noise, but he says, “I don’t need my hair washed, Lestrade,” voice barely more than a deep rumble. His fingers alight on Greg’s hips, though, holding on gently, and he doesn’t object further.

Greg works the shampoo into Sherlock’s curls, massaging his scalp, scratching gently the way he knows Sherlock likes. Sherlock stands quiet under his ministrations, eyes shut, head bowed, thumbs rubbing gentle circles against the skin of Greg’s hips, the only sign of affection he’ll get from Sherlock until the next time, probably. 

Which is fine. The signs of Sherlock’s regard are subtle, but they’re there, if you know how to find them. Greg has learned it over long study, through the years of their working relationship, their friendship, and their casual dalliance. 

It’s always ever been casual between them, practically for as long as they’ve known each other.

Last night was different. It was _more_. And Greg is pretty sure they both know why.

“I’ve seen,” he starts. He tempers his voice to make sure there’s no accusation in it. “I’ve seen the way you look at him.” 

Sherlock hums. He neither confirms nor denies, but he leans into Greg’s hands in his hair. The absent circling of his thumbs ceases, and then starts up again slowly when Greg doesn’t move away, or stop his hands in Sherlock’s hair (which is more than clean enough at this point, but Greg likes his hair, and doesn’t get to run his fingers through it very often).

“It’s all right, you know. I understand. Tilt your head back.”

Sherlock doesn’t reply, but he does tilt his head back into the spray to rinse the shampoo from his hair. He doesn’t speak until Greg is working his ridiculously expensive conditioner into his hair. Greg keeps going.

“I can back off, if you want. I do understand. It’s fine--”

“Greg,” and Greg knows it must be important if Sherlock is bothering to recall his first name, and use it, “as ever, you don’t observe.”

“Oh?”

“You’ve never realized how _you_ look at John, have you?”

“Do I, then?”

“That question makes no sense, Lestrade.”

“You know what I meant.”

“Yes, you do.” As ever, Sherlock scolds him and then answers the question anyway.

“Glad I’m not the only one, then.”

Sherlock nods. He grabs John’s shampoo off the ledge of the bathtub and pours a bit into his palm. “Switch.”

Greg switches places with him, and Sherlock works the shampoo into his hair. Greg’s eyes fall shut under his ministrations. They aren’t particularly tender, but the fact he’s washing Greg’s hair at all is, so he’ll take it. The contact is comforting, and Greg needs that right now. He needs this reassurance from Sherlock; it’s a new feeling for him, needing that. Sherlock has never been the person to whom Greg turns when he needs reassurance. Greg mirrors Sherlock’s earlier grasp, his fingers gentle against Sherlock’s skin.

“Do you think he’ll go for it?” he asks. His voice comes out hushed, nervous, unsure.

“He did have sex with both of us last night,” Sherlock answers, but his voice is as unsure as Lestrade has ever heard it. “Quite enthusiastically.”

“I’ve seen how he looks at you, too, Sherlock.”

Sherlock’s hands still momentarily, and he then withdraws them from Greg’s hair. “Rinse.”

Greg obeys. He’s still blinking water from his eyes when Sherlock speaks again, “Is it like the way he looks at you, when he thinks you won’t see?”

Greg takes a deep breath, and nods. “Probably.”

They stare at each other for a long time. Greg is the one to break the silence. “It would change things, between us. It would be more serious.”

Sherlock nods. “Yes,” he says softly.

“Is that what you want, if John agrees? All three of us?”

Sherlock shuts his eyes and bows his head in a single nod. “Yes,” he whispers. 

Greg barely hears him over the sound of the water. He reaches out and takes Sherlock’s hand. Waits for Sherlock to look up at him.

“All right. Let’s go talk to him, then.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's POV of the morning after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, OK, so this happened. There might be more? Still not looked at by anyone else, sorry if there are mistakes.

John hears Greg and Sherlock leave the bathroom. They’re talking quietly, but he can’t make out the words.

Not that he wants to, mind. He’s a little bit afraid they’re talking about him. Or about what a huge mistake the previous night had been.

It hadn’t been a mistake for him. It had been a revelation. He’d never thought he’d have something like that. They had both made him feel so unutterably loved just contemplating it takes his breath away.

And if that’s all it ever is, he’s fine with that. It’s obvious that Greg and Sherlock have been together in some capacity for a long time--he’d suspected as much. So if this was a one off for them, that’s ok. He’ll still be Sherlock’s flatmate, his best friend. He’ll still be Greg’s friend as well.

Hopefully. He’ll try, anyway.

John turns back to the hob, where he’s got bacon frying. The least he can do is breakfast, and he suspects that this may be one of those rare mornings where Sherlock eats an actual meal, without complaint. He’s scraping together everything they have: the bacon and a few eggs, toast and jam. There’s some beans in the fridge he can heat up, and some leftover spag bog from two nights ago that he might be able to pass off as “tomato” for a full(ish) English. Sherlock likely wouldn’t even notice the difference. And Greg would probably find it amusing.

It’s the least he can do for them, making them breakfast.

He’s concentrated on his task when Sherlock and Greg walk into the kitchen. John glances back at both of them and smiles a little. Sherlock is wearing his favorite blue dressing gown (John’s favorite too; it brings out his eyes), and Greg is wearing Sherlock’s plaid dressing gown; it’s a bit long on him.

“There’s coffee on,” he says, gesturing at the coffee pot.

“Ta,” Greg replies. 

Sherlock just crosses the room, standing too close behind John. Which he pretty much always does, but it feels to John as though he’s standing even closer than usual. John relishes the warmth of Sherlock against his back while Sherlock reaches around him for his mug. He doesn’t move very far once he’s grabbed it, pouring coffee and standing at John’s side. John watches him sip, remembering the feel of those lips against his skin last night, and flushing. 

Sherlock doesn’t offer coffee to Lestrade, and John rolls his eyes and sighs. “Git,” he mutters, affectionately, before reaching into the cupboard for their third mug; swiped from Mrs. Hudson at some point John is not aware of, it’s a bit on the small side, and covered in a Cath Kidston rose print. He glances across the room at Greg, who nods at him, and John fills it with coffee and hands it across the table to him.

When John returns to his previous position, Sherlock is right there, standing close to him. John takes that as reassurance, as a sign that last night wasn’t a fluke. The kiss Sherlock gives him next, firm, also serves as reassurance.

John leans into it, but it’s over almost as soon as it’s begun. He looks up at Sherlock, and then over at Greg. Greg smiles at him. John looks at each of them again.

“Yeah?” he asks. He hopes he’s not reading more into this than he should. He hopes this means what he hopes it means, what he’s been afraid to contemplate it might mean for fear of it not happening, of it not happening and it destroying him.

Greg nods, moving around the table to stand at John’s back.

“John,” Sherlock starts. He furrows his brow and opens his mouth to continue, but nothing comes out.

John looks up at him, waiting. He feels Greg at his back, and then Greg’s hands at his waist.

“John,” Greg murmurs, and he’s able to finish where Sherlock couldn’t. “We want you to be with us.”

John’s eyes go wide. He looks up at Sherlock, and over his shoulder at Greg, back again. They’re both standing close to him now, smiling softly at him. The warmth of their bodies so close to him warms him, inside and out. He moves, just a bit, so he can see both of them.

Both Sherlock and Greg are struck by John’s smile, the way it lights up the whole room, like sunlight.

“Yeah?” John says again, after a moment. It’s all breath, his voice is gone, in hope, in astonishment.

Sherlock just nods, still speechless himself. 

“Yeah,” Greg replies, moving in close to John again, to wrap his arms around John’s waist. John leans back into him.

Sherlock looks at both of them, a soft look on his face, one John’s only seen rarely. He reaches out to Sherlock, takes his hand and pulls him in so John can draw him into the embrace. They stay like that, all three of them embraced, for a few long minutes, just breathing each other in, just being together.

Together.

John is the first one to move. “The bacon’s going to burn,” he murmurs. 

Sherlock’s stomach growls in response, and Greg laughs, breath warm against John’s neck.


End file.
